


Love's Dead.

by EucratesBrice



Series: Jack of all One Shots, master of none. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dorks in Love, Ghost Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Movie Reference, Pop Culture, Rebuilding the Hale House, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18453830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EucratesBrice/pseuds/EucratesBrice
Summary: "Oh hey, boo.""What the fuck?"In which Derek is rebulding the Hale house in a weak attempt to say sorry to the charred remains of his childhood home, Stiles can't haunt for shit, and there's a fuckfest of movie inspired nicknames and pop culture references.





	Love's Dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Prior warning, Stiles is already dead. That's why there's no major character death warning. Should I put it? Idk.  
> It seems like I can only write when it's 1.00am.  
> Unbetad because I don't have a beta but I tried. :)

When Derek decided to move back into the Hale House, he should have known it came with its own brand of supernatural entities. It was a condemned ash pit tainted with the fleeting memories of dead family members and haunted by an insane tragedy. It housed what was essentially a love story on the path of Romeo and Juliet but then took a sharp turn towards Jennifer’s Body. Derek really didn’t know enough romance novels or movies to make a legitimate analogy, but it worked in its own twisted way. He’d been forced to watch Jennifer’s Body with Cora one day, back at the loft, in lieu of welcoming the new addition of a flat screen to the apartment. Plus, it was an abandoned house in the woods.

When he’d first arrived, the only things lingering in the Hale premises were half drunk - half stoned wayward teenagers whose only real crimes were underage drinking and mid afternoon alcoholism. They were easy enough to scare away- one foul stare and a half-assed threat to sic the police on their asses was enough to drive them far away from the preserve, bottle of shitty vodka in hand.

For the next week the only squatters in the house were rodents and racoons, all of whom recognized Derek as sure apex predator he was and scurried away to find a new nesting spot. After he was done with building up the place, he’d build them a shelter. Seemed like the polite thing to do, considering the fact that he had evicted them with no prior warning. Plus, everything’s a circle, a loop that never ends right? Nature’s hoola hoop. One day, that racoon might save his life. Covering all his bases seemed like the sensible, adult thing to do. It was during his second week at the burnt out shell of his childhood home, while he was hacking away at the debris, that it happened.

“Oh hey, _boo_.”

Derek startled and looked around. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, nor had he smelt any new smells. Partially disgruntled at the fact that he’d become completely unaware of his surroundings, and partially annoyed at the interruption, he scanned the area.

Nothing.

The trees swayed in the wind, undisturbed, the air smelt like burnt wood and soil, and the husk of his house was still empty with the exception of himself.

“What the fuck?”

“Yeah, bitch. _Boo_ ,” the voice said again, seeming to come from Derek’s right, “And in continuation, _beware_! _Be_ _gone_!”

Derek spun around in a circle, growling at the emptiness that surrounded him, “What the _fuck_?”

“And furthermore, what are you doing to my walls?”

“Oh,” Derek frowned.

He’d been spending far too much time with squirrels and wayward teenagers who were unaware that their day drinking spot was being renovated.

“Right,” he sighed heavily, “ _Ghost_.”

“Yes.. _.what_?”

“These aren’t your walls,” he frowned, “These are my walls. Barely walls, anyway.”

“Hey dude, why did you immediately think of ghosts? What kind of psycho are you? Watching too much Paranormal activity, huh Bob the builder?”

“What a horrid reference. Clearly you died recently.”

“Thanks. Rub salt on the wound, why don’t you.”

“Can’t,” Derek’s shrugged, lifting his pickaxe back up and resuming his hacking duties, “It will kill you.”

“Okay, Ghostbuster,” the voice said, “Rub hot sauce on to my tragedy, why don’t you?”

Derek sighed, watching the wall give away under his force. The noise of the wood breaking at the edge of the axe echoed in the empty woods.

“Oh hey!” the voice exclaimed, “That’s why Meeko isn’t here. You’ve scared him off.”

“Excuse me?” Derek huffed out in between swings, “There’s two of you?"

“What?” the voice said, “Meeko? Oh he’s not a creepy ghost-“

“Nor are you, Casper.”

“Hey, fuck off buddy, I’m pretty terrifying when I want to be. And Meeko is a racoon. You know, Meeko, like from Pocahontas.”

“Oh,” Derek frowned, watching the last bit of the wall give way.

He sighed and moved to begin on the next wall, frowning when he realized, “Is it rude to walk through you?”

“What? Oh no, I’m up in the tree. You can walk all around buddy.”

“You’re up in the tree? What are you, a dead squirrel?”

“No. Just fully abusing my new found abilities to completely disregard the laws of physics. And hey, how do you know about ghosts? Are you one of those creepers that wear tinfoil hats and own travel sized Ouija boards?”

“No, I’m a werewolf. Fully immersed in all things supernatural by lottery of birth.”

“Ah. Should have known.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s hot like burning and the sun is directly hitting us. But you haven’t broken a sweat,” the voice paused before adding, “And you aren’t sparkling.”

Derek frowned, “Oh right. Twilight. Gosh, you must be young. Vampires don’t actually sparkles. Much more Dracula than Cullen.”

“Yes I know. Anyway, no offence Serephine, but you’re not really vampire material.”

“Why? And, better yet, why am I Serephine? There are a million other characters to chose from!”

“Well, Dracula’s whole game is seduction, and you my man aren’t what I’d call the poster boy of smooth and seductive.”

Derek had no right in being offended that he wasn’t a vampire. This ghost sucked.

  
Their banter became a regular thing. It kept him occupied while he broke down the walls, the floor and the foundation. The ghost would bicker with him and prod him for random information for half an hour before ceasing all together and going...somewhere.

Derek wasn’t really sure where the dead boy went. Or why. Or why he was hanging around the old Hale house. He wasn’t a Hale, he knew that. There were no ghosts left of his family. He’d done the utmost to check. Plus, the boy would have recognized Derek immediately, if not by looks then by scent alone. Despite their daily banter, Derek knew nothing about the boy- except that he was dead, that his death was a recent occurrence, and that he had named almost every animal that ever visited the Hale house. In turn, the boy only knew insignificant facts about Derek. Or rather, facts that were too random to create any real story line.

“Oh hey, Colonel Frazakaly,” the voice floated in, “What are you doing?”

“What the fuck was that name?”

“Colonel Frazakaly? Dude! Uncultured swine,” the boy huffed.

“Okay, Danny Phantom, you keep your obscure references to yourself,” Derek rolled his eyes, “And I’m setting down a foundation.”

“Its a poem. The greatest poem ever written. The only thing that makes life as a ghost worth not living,” the boy said, “its the only thing that doesn’t not make this not life worth not living. Untangle that spaghetti bowl of negatives.”

Derek frowned, “Hey. Are you a boy?”

“Um...yes?”

“Just asking. I’ve been calling you boy in my head. Realized I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I’m a boy. A dude. A male. And Stiles. My name is Stiles.”

“Is that your Ghost name?”

“No, it’s my real name. My ghost name is-“

“No, it’s cool. I don’t actually want to know,” Derek stepped back to look at his foundation, “The names Derek.”

“Oh thank God, a name to the face. I was running out of werewolf references.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Rightfully so, Professor Lupin.”

“That ones not bad, I welcome it.”

“Werewolf McWerefolf.”

“Please stop.”

“Mason.”

“Who?”

“From Wizards of Waverly place, come on! Timeless reference that was.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, how old are you?”

“Old enough, Ginger Snap.”

“I am,” Derek sighed, “so thoroughly confused.”

And he leaves confused. He reads the poem, laughs, and makes Cora read it too- though she doesn’t find it nearly as amusing most probably because she doesn’t know the context. How do you tell your sister you’ve befriended the ghost that’s haunting the house you’re rebuilding? Simple, you don’t. Or she’ll put you up for therapy, again.

  
The next time Stiles meets him, he’s setting up a wall.

“I’m nineteen. Or well, I died nineteen.”

“Fuck, that’s young.”

And so it begins.

  
“My family died here. Because of a fire. It’s only me and my sister now.”

“That’s a bit more Frankenstein that I expected.”

“A crazy hunter burnt it down.”

“Very Van Helsing.”

“Wasn’t Van Helsing a werewolf at some point?”

“Semantics, Cujo.”

“That’s a dog.”

“Semantics.”

 

It continues, he sets up the third wall.

“My best friend is a werewolf.”  
“Anyone I know?”

“Probably not. He’s the least impressive werewolf. And he’s like super dead.”

He puts down the second floor. It’s harder than he anticipated, but Stiles’ presence makes hiring construction workers a bit complicated.

“I wanted to build the house on my own, because the thought of other people swarming this area makes me sick.”

“What about your sister?”

“No. It’s got to be me. I owe it.”

“To the house?”

“Yes.”

“Weird dedication. Oh hey, Meeko!”

The second floor has eight rooms. It’s like three rooms too many, but it feels right. Like it holds the promise of the addition of new pack members.

“I call dibs on this room, the view is awesome.”

“No, that’s mine. You can have the one beside it.”

“No way! Come on, I called dibs fair and square!”

“I built it. I call it.”

“That’s so unfair. I would have helped if I could fucking lift things.”

“That’s not really my fault, is it?”

“Come on, Jacob!”

“Never call me that.”

“Jacob!”

“Go back to Cujo.”

“I’ll call you Lupin, for the room.”  
“Deal, that room is yours.”

He doesn’t know what he’s said till he’s said it. But there’s no take-backsies, Derek was raised better than that. By wolves sure, but not in a barn.

“I’m building a shed for Meeko and the rest.”

“Meeko and gang. Meeko and company. Meeko and friends.”

“Yeah, those guys.”

“I got shot in the chest.”

It's a bomb. Derek fumbles with the plank he’s holding.

“Oh.”

“By a hunter.”

“Oh.”

“She was hunting my friend down. She shot him, then she shot me. He died...I stayed.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Her name was Kate Argent.”

“Oh! That bitch!” Derek exclaimed, “She burnt down my house.”

“No way! Kindred spirits.”

Stiles declares them the We Hate Kate Argent club in mockery of the Rachel Green hate club. Derek is the Brad Pitt, he says it works too because when Derek was younger he looked like a spaz. Stiles says he doesn’t believe him, but eventually concedes that it’s because he doesn’t want to be Ross, “ _No_ _one_ wants to be Ross, Lupin. _No_ _one_.”

The next day it’s,  
“I’ve never watched Twilight.”

“My sister made me watch it. It’s not as awful as I imagined it to be, but its pretty awful.”

The day after its,  
“I did everything for Scott. I protected him through and through. Thick and fucking thin, you know? And now I’m _dead_. And he’s dead. And he _left_ me. We came to this carcass of a house because his stupid girlfriend said it had answers they needed. _Fuck_ _him_! A trap. It was a real trap. Fuck him. He listened to _her_? Over _me_? He knew her for the span of a week Derek. _Fuck him_. Love stuck idiot.”

"I fell in love with Kate. She tricked me, it was like she loved me. She used me, then she burnt down my house. She killed my family.”

“Then it’s your fault too. Fucking idiots.” 

They don’t talk for a week. Derek gave up on the house for four days, opting to stay in his room in the loft with the curtains drawn shut. Cora said he looks depressed, and that maybe the rebuilding is hurting him more than it’s fixing him. Derek didn't respond, opting to bury himself under his covers. He cried himself to sleep, and Cora didn’t bring it up. She took in the pained look on his face and gave him a get out of jail free card. When he went back to the house, he worked for three days, then Stiles showed up with,  
“I shouldn’t have said that. It’s awful. It’s not true. It’s not true at all. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Derek ignored him.

“I know it’s awful. I know it’s untrue. She tricked you. Please forgive me.”

Derek kept at making the roof, pointedly ignoring the boy.

“Please,” Stiles’ voice broke, “ _Please_. I’m so sorry. Please tell me what I can do to fix it. _Please_.”

For the next whole week, Stiles’ spent the whole day scaring stoned teenagers. It’s a punishment, because they don’t find Stiles’ scary in the least and that annoys the boy. Derek watched him scare a group of teenagers who run, leaving their stash of whiskey.

“Hey! More for us. Except I can’t drink. Literally. And you can’t get drunk.”

“You matter too much to me to hear you say it. Even if it’s true.”

“Its not.”

“But-,”

“Its _not true_ ,” Stiles’ yelled, the trees shook with the force of it, the sky split in the middle and the rain fell down with such ferocity that Derek winced at the impact, “Its not fucking true. I’m just a horrible person!”

Thunder rolled in, Sites seemed unfazed, his voice only getting louder, “It’s not true. I never meant it. You _can’t_ think it’s true because it’s _not_! And I know I know there’s no taking it back and I know, I fucking know that being angry isn’t an excuse-,”

“Generally,” Derek interrupted, “Its not. But you’re dead. That counts for a lot of anger. It’s not true, if you say it’s not.”

The rains stops as fast as it came, “What?”

“It might take a _little_ more convincing, sans the dramatic rain maybe, but okay. It’s not true.”

“Okay good. Good.”

Derek regrets the day Stiles has to leave him. Or worse, he has to leave Stiles.

He paints the house white, in an obscure shade Stiles picks out.

“Today’s my death day.”

“Where do you go when you’re not here?”

“My grave.”

“That’s morbid. You should stop.”

“You’re in the burnt remains of your house. You’re family’s death bed. You’re not one to talk.”

“I’m fixing it, you can’t fix your grave.”

Stiles huffs, “Whatever, Scott Howard.”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m _dead_. That’s as hurt as I can get.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t like you getting even more hurt.”

“I’m fucking _dead_. Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know. I love you.”

“Oh, real smooth Casanova.”

“Thanks, just your regular Dracula here.”

“Maybe. Possibly. You’re not as Chunky Peanut butter as I thought. Might be smooth. Maybe. I love you too.”

“What a relief.”

“Reign in the attitude, you’re literally in love with a ghost, Demi Moore.”

“True.”

“You have zero foot to stand on, ever, Molly.”

“Yes, I get it."

“You realize you have _no_ idea what I look like right? I’m no Patrick Swayze. I’m not exactly the prettiest posy of the patch.”

“Hmm.”

“And you can’t kiss me.”

“I’ll live.”

“I won’t. Literally.”

“Okay, Malcolm Crowe, shut up and pick a colour for the inside walls.”

“Wow. _Major_ fucking spoiler alert dude.”

 

He gets shot in the chest. There’s pain searing through his entire body, ripping him apart inside out, seeping into his every limb, clouding his mind with a thick, heavy fog. He knew Cora had Kate’s throat between her teeth. He knew she got shot too. He heard the sound of the bullet, her chest being ripped open, her screams.  He knew he should be angry, scared, sad. But he has nothing to live for, and _Everything_ to die for.

“I’ll take you to the house,” he said.

Cora nodded, “I want famous last words.”

He takes Cora to the house, because they are here. It’s _weird_ , not walking but still walking. He gets it, he wants to be in the trees too, because somehow he can. The leaves don’t crunch under his feet, the branches don’t bend and snap under his weight. Cora’s in the air, she takes dying like a champ. They don’t know why they are here, and not beyond, but they don’t mind. On the way, Derek points at the lump near a tree and says,

“That’ Meeko. Like from Pocahontas.”

Cora stares at it, then says, “Oh my god, you’ve fallen in love. With something. Someone. A ghost? You’ve never watched Pocahontas, you’d never name a racoon that even if you had watched it. Jesus, it’s got to be a ghost or else you’d be sad that you're dead and all! Jesus, Demi Moore much?”

Derek scowls, “Shut up, Nancy Drew.”

When he sees him, he looses his breath. Figuratively, since as a ghost, he doesn’t need breath. He’s ethereal. Long limbed, pale skin pattered like a sky full of constellations with miles that Derek wants to connect and count and see where they end and begin. He’s got a mop of dark hair, eyes big and wide like they hold the whole moon. Eyes focused on Maurice the squirrel. He’s gorgeous. He’s smiling. It’s blinding. It would make Edward sparkle. Derek doesn’t think he’s even seen something so beautiful that it could immediately make him happy. He’s a sap in the afterlife. Cora winces, whispers that she’s going to find Meeko and leaves. Derek ambles towards the house.

“Oh hey, _boo_.”

“Hey, _wait what the fuck_?”

Derek grabs his face in between his hands, whispers a small promise to explain everything, and kisses him. He lets himself get lost in the feeling of Stiles’ hands winding into his hair, over his figure. He allows himself to get lost in the feeling of Stiles’ body being so close to him.

“You lied to me,” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ lips.

“What? When?”

“You’re the prettiest posy. You’re the prettiest. You’re gorgeous. I love you, so much.”

“Oh.”

“You should meet my sister. She’ll come around here soon.”

“How-“

“Cora killed Kate. They found us, they shot us. But she killed her. Ripped her throat out. It was terrifying, but pleasing.”

“Remind me to thank her when I meet her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“I’m not. I know that’s messed up. Fuck, I know. And it’s weird. Being dead. But I had _nothing_ to live for. Here I have you, if you’ll have me. And we have this house. That we can haunt together like a couple of losers. Maybe find some other ghosts, some others who have no idea what they are doing. You make me happy, I don’t care what we do. I’m happy. It’s been a while since I’ve said that.”

“You’ve never said so many words before. And yeah, yeah I’ll have you. Gosh, I’ll have you. _Fuck_ , dude, try leaving. Non of that Till death do us part bullshit, right? No, no. I love you, Derek. Like, seriously. I’ll make it rain again, if you want proof.”

“No I’m good, Shakespeare. You can hold back the dramatic water works.”

“Yeah. Yeah okay, Joe Pendleton.”

Derek laughs, “Yeah. Yeah, heaven can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism are most appreciated.  
> Referenced:  
> Rome and Juliet: drama. Shakespeare.  
> Jennifer's Body: movie  
> Bob the Builder; (TV show, bob the builder)  
> Ghostbusters: (movie)  
> Casper: (TV show, Casper the friendly ghost)  
> Pocohuntas: movie  
> Twilight: movie (Edward, Jacob)  
> Dracula: lore. Movie.  
> Seraphine: an American Werewolf in Paris. (Movie)  
> Colonel Frazakaly: Colonel Frazakaly Butterworth toast. (poem)  
> Mason: Wizards of Waverly place (TV show)  
> Cujo: lore  
> Lupin: Harry potter (book series)  
> Ginger snap: movie  
> Frankenstein: lore  
> Van Helsing: movie.  
> Rachel Green: Friends (TV show)  
> Scott Howard: Teen Wolf (TV show, the old one)  
> Demi Moore, Molly, Patrick Swayze: Ghost (movie)  
> Casanova: movie  
> Malcolm Crowd: The Sixth Sense (movie)  
> Nancy Drew: book series  
> Joe Pendleton: Heaven can wait (movie)


End file.
